


Word Made Flesh And Other Scars

by Briston



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Castiel Out of the Empty (Supernatural), Dean Winchester to the Rescue, Dean figures stuff out, Enochian (Supernatural), Grief/Mourning, Love Wins, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, POV Dean Winchester, Post-Episode AU: s15e18 Despair, Post-Episode AU: s15e19 Inherit the Earth, Retired Hunter Winchesters (Supernatural), Reunited and It Feels So Good, Sam Winchester Deserves to be Happy, Sigils, s15e20 didn't happen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:55:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29290953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Briston/pseuds/Briston
Summary: Exhausted and grieving, Dean is barely going through the daily motions while Sam has decided to find a way out of the hunting life.  While Sam's future is hopeful, Dean is stuck on what, or more specifically who, he has lost.An unexpected discovery reveals more to him about the angel that he thought he had known so well, and maybe, just maybe Cas has left him the clues to find a way home.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	1. Olive Branches and Doves

Sometimes morning was a respite from pretending to sleep. Like the trademarked Winchester solid four hours was anything but a way to disguise insomnia and nightmares. A lifetime of snatched rest had taught Dean to know the bare minimum to function, and the even lesser minimum to keep his sanity. He walked between those two lines. Mostly functional, barely holding on. The ache was deep.

Wordlessly he rubbed his face with his hand and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. Another day. Another damn day. Tossing the covers, he sat up and reached over to grab yesterday’s clothes. Or were they from the day before that? Didn’t matter, it all ran together anyway, time. When there was nothing to hold on to, this was the shit you let drift.

Black t-shirt, forest green, and grey flannel, off to the kitchen to make coffee.

Sam was already there, sitting at the table. Or was he still there from last night? It certainly looked like he hadn’t moved from his laptop and pile of ancient-looking books.

“Hey Sammy, you been here all night?” The coffee was already made, and from the smell of it, not too long ago. He poured himself a cup and went to sit with his brother. “How’s the research coming?”

Sipping his own cooled coffee, Sam pushed his laptop closed and looked at his brother. “Up early actually, got a few hours in and now I’m going to go for a run and see if I can make sense of what I have so far in my head. I did want to ask you something though.”

“Yeah, what’s that?” 

After Chuck, after Jack, after Cas, after it was all over, they had stopped. Cold. No more hunts. They’d saved the world and given almost everything in the process. Nearly losing Eileen again had made Sam determined to build a life they could both share, outside of hunting where death wasn’t waiting around the corner on a daily basis. He was going to add to the lore, research the best of what was known and incorporate what they had learned along the way so any hunters coming behind them would benefit. Inheriting Rowena’s library would even bring some new knowledge to the table. Maybe not as sexy as being a hunter, but a hell of a lot safer.

Sam’s first endeavor was a plan to consolidate everything known about protective warding and sigils. The bunker, with all of its warding, had been a game-changer for them when they first found it. The time and energy saved not having to worry about basic safety all of the time had made a huge impact on their ability and skills and Sam wanted to help other hunters have access to the same. He had exhaustively researched and read everything in the library except for one crucial resource. The only problem was that it was likely located in the one place he knew to be off-limits to him.

“There’s one book I need, an original manuscript on Enochian sigils. I know we have it, I’ve looked everywhere for weeks. There’s only one place left where it could be Dean.”

If Sam’s decision to quit hunting was based on what he had gained, Dean’s was based on what he had lost. The grief from losing Cas was like a sucking chest wound that refused to close; every breath brought physical pain. He hadn’t been back to the dungeon since the day the Empty had taken Cas, and he hadn’t set foot in Cas’s room either. Sam understood without words that these were both sacred spaces for Dean now, and he hated to push, but he really needed the book.

“Not ready, man.”

“I could do it…”

“No, you have Eileen. This is all I have left.”

“It’s been three months Dean. I miss him too.”

“Not the same Sam, we both know it.”

Sad puppy dog eyes watched him swallow the last of his coffee. Dean hated feeling so vulnerable and exposed, but the grief that had been his companion since Cas died had left his emotions perpetually raw. To a large degree, he had made peace with it. He couldn’t hide his feelings if he tried, and there was no point anyway. Sam had always known, and maybe honoring Cas meant accepting who he was and being honest about it. He looked down at the table and swallowed back the familiar lump in his throat, eyes stinging with the threat of tears as a sharp pang twisted in his chest.

“Dean, I’ve done the rest of the work, the book is the last piece. I really need it, I know Cas had borrowed it, it has to be in his room. Please?”

Silence hung between them in the old industrial kitchen for a few long minutes while Dean took deep breaths to contain himself. Sam knew he was asking for something impossibly hard of Dean, but maybe he needed to face it. “Tell you what, I’m going for a long run, then heading to Eileen’s for a few days. You don’t have to do it right now, but maybe while I’m gone? Would that be ok?”

On some level Dean knew Sam was right, he tapped his fingers on the tabletop lightly and chewed his bottom lip, considering how to move forward. After a moment he nodded in agreement. “Yeah, that would probably be the best way Sam. I’d like to do it alone. Thanks.”

And so it was after Sam had left, and after Dean had spent much of the day inventing reasons to be anywhere else in the bunker, Dean found himself, finally, outside of Cas’s room. Hand on the cold doorknob, forehead resting on the wooden door, mentally preparing himself for what he knew he’d find: an empty room with only faint traces of the angel who had stayed there. Another reminder that Cas was gone, and Dean had let his fear and wounded pride keep them from ever having a moment really knowing each other. With more than a little bit of trepidation, he turned the knob and entered, flicking the light switch that was just to the left of the door.

It was…exactly how Dean expected it to be. Reverently he stepped into the dimly lit space and shut the door behind him. Dragging his eyes over everything at once, he soaked it all into his memory. That last person in this room had been Cas, the last person to sit on the slightly mussed bed, the last to casually toss a paperback on the nightstand and to leave a blue tie - poorly knotted at that, lying on the top of the dresser. All Cas. 

He walked around the room, touching the chairs, touching the dresser, touching the lamps and the desktop, touching everything he thought Cas would have touched as though he could will him back into being through this shared connection. The wave of grief that he had been expecting, hit him like a tsunami and stole his breath away, it felt like a physical blow. He curled up on the bed and let it wash over him. The pillow still smelled faintly of Cas, a blend of honey, cedar, and petrichor. He hugged it and allowed himself the luxury of shedding tears, not that he could have stopped them. Eventually, he slept and dreamed the dreams of the heartbroken. Dreams of forgotten days and empty promises, of regrets and things, left unsaid, dreams where you fall asleep in tears and awaken the same way.

Heavy-hearted, but also feeling a bit better, Dean ran a hand over his face and sat on the edge of the bed waiting for the addled by sleep feeling to clear. He came here to find the manuscript. If Cas had taken it, this was the only place it could be. Looking around the room again, he searched for the old tome. It was not obviously on display anywhere. Maybe one of the drawers? Reaching over he opened the bedside table to find an old Walkman and a copy of National Geographic magazine with the cover article being about bees. Fucking bees, Dean smiled and remembered the time Cas had appeared ON his car, covered in them. The weirdo had always been fascinated by them. Picking up the Walkman, he placed the headphones on and hit play. It wasn’t a surprise to hear Zepplin, stopping the music and opening the cassette slot he confirmed that this was the mixtape he’d made for him. Dean smiled again and wiped a stray tear. This at least was a good memory. 

There was nothing else in the side table and he headed towards the dresser next, blue tie haphazardly strew across the top. Checking all three drawers it was mostly empty, save for a few clothing items. Socks, boxers – again with the bees, and a couple of plain t-shirts. All in, it wasn’t very much to show for a lifespan that had stretched millennia and more importantly had ended up being the love of his god damned life. Dean felt guilty about the fact that the only thing he’d ever given Cas to show he cared was an old cassette tape, he could have done a whole hell of a lot better if he hadn’t been such a chicken shit.

“Cas, I know that you probably can’t hear me, but I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry. You deserved better. I wish I’d done more for you…said more. I miss having you here.”

He was pretty sure prayers didn’t make it to wherever Cas was in the empty but talking to him helped anyway. Not that he ever expected to stop feeling regret about missing out on what might have been. That was going to stay.

The last place to check was the small desk along the wall. The top was empty, save for a fine layer of dust but there was a drawer. It didn’t look big enough to hold the book he imagined he was looking for, but you never know. Sighing, he sat in the chair and ran his fingers along the desk edge anyway. He wondered how often Cas had sat here, what he had used the desk for – if at all. 

Finally, he moved his hand to the drawer knob and pulled. Truly he didn’t expect to find anything other than perhaps some scrap paper and a dried-up pen. He honestly wasn’t expecting to find anything as exciting as Sam’s lost manuscript. He definitely wasn’t expecting to find what was actually there.

His breath caught, perhaps it even hitched. The drawer was empty save for a single manilla envelope. Across the envelope, boldly written in Cas’s angelic script was one word. Dean.


	2. Show Me Slowly What I Only Know The Limits Of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean opens the letter from Cas to find more questions than answers and a mystery to be solved. There is a little more heartbreak to navigate as Dean puts some of the pieces together.

_Dean_

The envelope was crisp, with smooth lines and sharp corners. New, chosen with purpose and not re-purposed after a lifetime of being shuffled between mailboxes, bags, and back pockets. The color of the paper was reminiscent of Cas’s trench coat which made it seem almost appropriate. If only the why was easier to discern.

Dean held the envelope in his hands and turned it over thoughtfully. The three of them had been living a day from death for as long as he could remember. Short accounts (as much as possible) between them had always been kept, last wishes were known, and outside of baby, possessions were almost assumed to be communal anyway. Having died multiple times each, last words had already been given and tucked away for reference at any appropriate time in the future. And while Cas’s last, "last words" had been new to Dean, they were already hidden away from daylight and branded on his soul. There could be nothing unexpected or unknown left to put in an envelope and leave behind.

And yet, because of all that, this felt sacred, and Dean was almost afraid to open it. He wasn’t afraid of what was inside, his biggest fear had been losing Cas, and that had happened. Nothing could be worse than what he’d already experienced, so it wasn’t that. What it was, was that whatever was inside was something Cas left for him, and as long as it stayed inside it was like a connection that was still in place between them. Ridiculous given that he hadn’t known it existed minutes ago, but now that he knew, the idea of it was precious.

Holding it close, he decided that he was finished in the room for now. Standing in the doorway, he surveyed the room again, almost identically to when he had first entered. The bed was a little more messed up because of him but everything else was being left as he had found it. He hit the light switch to the left once again and gently shut the door behind him.

If he hadn’t been glad Sam was gone for a few days before, he was now. He didn’t want to share this. This was his and he was going to be selfish with it. Ambling into the kitchen he placed the envelope on the table and headed to the fridge for a beer. Opening it, he took a long pull from the bottle and eyed the seemingly innocuous envelope waiting for him. What the hell, Cas?

Dean took another pull and made his way to the table. Who was he kidding? Whatever was in that envelope, Cas had been waiting three months for him to find. Well, not exactly waiting, but he had died knowing Dean was meant to find it, so close enough. Sitting down, beer off to the side, he slid the envelope over.

“Alright Cas, I found your letter. I don’t know what you’ve got here, but….uh…thanks.” Make no mistake, Dean considered whatever this was to be a gift, and he was going to treasure it. Because this was all he’d ever get to have.

Wanting to protect the envelope as much as possible, he pulled out his knife and opened it cleanly across the top. Putting it back away, he took a breath, mutter a quick “Here goes nothing.”, and slid his hand into the opening. There was a single piece of paper and something heavier at the bottom. He slipped the paper out, setting it face down on the table, turning the envelope, he almost jumped at the unexpected clink of a single key hitting the industrial tabletop of the otherwise silent kitchen. Picking it up he turned it over and around in his fingers. Not the key to the Lincoln – thank Jack because that car was a piece of shit- not a key to any kind of lock or storage container, not a key to the bunker or any of the bunkers antique cupboards or cabinets. A single, non-descript, house key.

“…the fuck?” One side of Dean’s mouth pulled up in a smirk, sneaky bastard had to leave him with one more surprise. It felt good. “Whatcha playing at Cas?”

There was literally nothing to identify what the key was for, so he turned his attention to the paper. Flipping it over he expected to see some kind of note of explanation. No such luck. The sheet was empty save for a set of GPS coordinates. Not an address. No explanation.

Beer forgotten, Dean pulled his car keys out of his pocket and slid the new key onto the ring. Grabbing his phone he took a photo of the coordinates for backup, and that done, walked to the library, paper in hand to settle in front of his laptop. A few short minutes of research led him to, literally nothing. The coordinates pointed out a spot in the middle of protected national forest land in Colorado. The land wasn’t owned by anyone, and satellite imagery revealed no buildings and a lack of regular or service roads. Whatever was there, it was hike-in only, except it wasn’t clear what the hike was to. It had to be whatever the key was for, but nothing was there.

Dean figured the drive was maybe 8 hours and the hike looked to be an hour or so after that. He was definitely going, no question. It was too late to leave tonight, but there was enough time to pack his go bag with a few extra provisions. He’d plan to be away for a few days, there were no diners where he was going so he’d have to carry food in with him as well, and the duffle needed to be swapped out for a backpack. He powered down the laptop, clearing the history because he wasn’t ready to share this with Sam, and set off to pack.

It felt good to have purpose and a plan, something to do other than sit around the bunker and miss Cas. Even if it led to nothing (although he seriously doubted Cas would go to the trouble of sending him on a wild goose chase), this was the lightest he had felt in months, and perhaps that, in itself, would be enough.

Packed and ready to go, Dean decided to head to bed. The earlier he slept, the earlier he could head out. He probably should give Sam a head’s up, let him know he was leaving for a few days.

**< Hey Sammy,**

**< Checked out Cas’s room. No book, sorry.**

**< Heading out first thing for a few days, thinking a change of scenery would be good. **

Sam responded almost instantly.

**> Damn, I need that book.**

**> Road trip is a good idea, stay out of trouble. Keep in touch ok?**

Dean figured the less he told his brother the better, and he was happy to let him think he was going on a road trip with baby without a clear destination in mind. When he felt ready to share or found something to share, he would. But for now, he wanted to hold his cards close.

**< Sure thing Sam,**

**< Say hi to Eileen for me, see you in a few. Off to get some shut-eye so I can leave early. Night.**

Sleep came easier than expected but didn’t last. Another nightmare about the Empty pulling Cas through the dark portal jolted him awake at 3:00 am. It was enough though, and the adrenaline of finding out what was at the coordinates Cas left him had him out of bed and making coffee and a quick breakfast within minutes. He didn’t want to be here, he wanted to be there, so the sooner he got on the road, the better.

By 3:45 Dean was caffeinated and fed, the kitchen cleaned up, and his gear swung over his shoulder. He headed out to the garage, threw everything into baby, and headed towards the highway. Reaching into a pocket of his jacket he pulled out Cas’s mixtape. He’d gone back to retrieve it from Cas’s room shortly before leaving. Popping it into the deck, the trip now had an official soundtrack. The onramp took him west, away from the sunrise that was still a few hours from breaking over the horizon. 

The drive was uneventful and quite honestly soothing. He’d been so wrapped up in nothing these past months, staying in the bunker, avoiding people that he had almost forgotten how much the long stretches of open road fulfilled something in him like nothing else. Traffic had been light, he hummed along to all of the tunes and tapped drum beats with his fingers on the steering wheel. It felt like nothing had happened, it felt like normal used to feel, and for a few minutes, he let himself believe that he was driving to Cas himself, and not to a mystery left behind. It was bittersweet and felt so good.

Dean stopped at a truck stop for a second breakfast late in the morning and left with a slice of cherry pie for later. He had made excellent time, but the closer he got to his destination, the bumpier the roads got and the slower he had to go not wanting to bottom out the suspension on a deep pothole of the old, neglected service road. He drove as far as the map app indicated, expecting the end of the old service road where he could park and hike in. Both satellite imagery and the basic map showed that this was the end of the line and there was nothing but trees beyond this point.

What they hadn’t shown, was an unmarked poorly cleared, and almost invisible single lane dirt road cutting into the forest in the same general direction that he had to hike in. Betting on a hunch and silently apologizing to baby, he nosed the car towards the lane, deciding to follow it as long as it generally traveled in the same direction he was headed. Even if he had to leave the car on the lane to continue on foot, there was no one around to see or care. This really was literally the middle of buttfuck nowhere.

After a few minutes, it became pretty clear that the lane was leading true to exactly where he was headed, and if things held, the hike in would not be required at all. Indeed, after 15 minutes the dirt road opened into a clearing that was just big enough to allow for the car to turn and head back down the same lane when he saw it: a small cabin nestled in the trees and a long off view of a small lake behind it. Again, he wondered what exactly what Cas was trying to show him.

He got out of the car and left his gear behind, in the back of his mind he wondered if Cas had sent him on an unfinished hunt or something. But that didn’t make sense. Nonetheless, he made sure his gun was tucked behind him where he could grab it quickly, and instinctively patted where he’d find his knife. He might be a retired hunter but he didn’t plan on ever being a careless retired hunter. Everything looked fine, but he circled the perimeter anyway, looking for signs of pretty much anything. There was nothing out of the ordinary. He came back round to stand by baby and looked at the cabin itself again.

It was older, maybe twenty years. Unstained wood, two steps leading up to a porch that ran across the entire front of the building. There was a bench sitting beneath a window and a small woodpile beside it. The door itself was deep green and both the window and the window in the door had curtains, tied back cheerily to give a welcoming appearance. If Dean closed his eyes, he could almost imagine Cas sitting on the bench with a coffee in hand and a book in the other. The Cas he had secretly imagined on and off throughout the years, whenever he had let himself think about the possibility of life after hunting: smiling contently, dressed in denim, a dark shirt and flannel stolen from Dean’s closet, waiting for Dean to join him, welcoming him home with a gentle kiss and a murmured hello.

Shoving those feelings down, because Cas isn’t waiting for him and dwelling on it won’t do him any good, he takes both steps in stride and goes directly to the door. Keys in hand, assuming that the key from the envelope is the key for the entrance, he slips it into the lock and opens the door easily.

The first thing he notices is the warding. Discrete to be sure, but thorough. Cas, (he assumed it was Cas), had made this place as secure as the bunker. Nothing supernatural would get in and it explained why the building didn’t show up on the maps or satellite imagery. It was well and truly hidden. Not for the first time, he wonders again exactly what the angel had been doing.

The cabin isn’t that big, but before casing it, he goes out to the car and brings in his gear. He’ll stay at least tonight, longer if he doesn’t figure out the mystery here. Throwing it into the middle of the small living room floor, he does a slow 360° to take it all in. The main room has a stone fireplace along the sidewall, the open kitchen area is to the right of the door, painted in a warm shade of pale yellow with a fridge, stove, and small table for two. The bedroom is the same yellow, but it has walls and through the door, Dean can only see a bed and the edge of a tall dresser. Next to that, along the back wall must be the bathroom, and the last quarter term brings him back to the stone fireplace. There’s an old couch and matching recliner in the middle of the main room, and a bookshelf against this side of the bathroom wall. Walking over he recognizes many of his favorite novels from over the years, some he had lent to Castiel, and some that he had simply forgotten about. But they were all here. Out of curiosity, and maybe suspicion he pulls out a worn copy of Slaughterhouse 5 and checks the front cover. Dean Winchester is written on the inside – in his handwriting. This was his book. What the fuck Cas? He thought he’d lost it years ago. 

He stepped back and looked around him again, Cas hadn’t left him a key to some old cabin, Cas left him a key to his cabin. And since when did Cas have a cabin, and why the fuck wouldn’t he have mentioned it to him..ever? If he was still alive, he’d be pissed. 

He walked over to the kitchen and started opening cupboards, confirming what he had already figured out. The dishes were identical to those from the bunker, silverware the same. Which was weird because Cas didn’t even eat for fuck sake yet there were two of everything, which he apparently had taken using the five-finger discount from the bunker. The fridge was empty, and the only food was an old jar of now crystallized honey, some instant coffee, and a sleeve of cookies. The cookies at least were a score, they were Dean’s favorite.

He had to hit the head, so the bathroom was the next stop. It was your basic fare except for, big surprise – the towels looked like they’d come from the bunker. The showerhead stood out though, a number of years ago they’d been on a hunt at a fancy lodge and the owners had been so thankful for their help they’d put them up in upgraded rooms. The showerhead in the deluxe room had been strong enough to pummel his muscles and almost pressure wash his body. He had mourned leaving it behind, telling both Sam and Cas that it had been the best shower of his life – and now here he was, staring at the same showerhead. Where did Cas find that, and why here?

The bedroom was the last place to check-out and like the rest of the place, it was simple. The bedding was identical to the bedding in the bunker, save for a quilt folded neatly over the foot of the bed. It was curiously out of place, made with golden and grey materials, but when he looked closer, he realized that it was all Cas. The different hued hexagons had been sewn together to make a giant honeycomb and whoever had made it had stitched bees in strategic places. His heart ached a little bit wishing he could have been there to see Cas discover such a thing. His delight would have been evident.

He rubbed his hand over the fabric and smiled softly, again indulging his imagination, wondering what it would have been like to curl up under it on a cool night, Cas draped along and over his body. He sat on the edge of the bed and then laid back, allowing himself to enjoy that fantasy just a little longer. It took a deep breath and stretch on his shoulder muscles that were stiff from the drive to realize that this bed felt very familiar.

“Son of a bitch.” The mattress was topped with memory foam.

Cas didn’t even sleep. He didn’t need a memory foam mattress topper. 

He sat up, trying to assimilate what had suddenly become very confusing. The building was securely warded and strategically hidden, there was a bookshelf filled with his favorite books, a kitchen equipped with everything two people living together would need, his dream shower, and a memory foam mattress. 

The pieces fell into place and he slid down the side of the bed to sit on the floor in shock. Fresh grief washed over him. Cas hadn’t left him a key to his cabin, Cas had left him a key to their cabin. Cas had built this for _him_ , for _them_.

And that might have been the saddest realization of Dean’s whole life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This line inspiring this chapter is "Show Me Slowly What I Only Know The Limits Of", Dean finally starts to understand the depths of Cas's feelings.
> 
> We will be turning the corner soon enough, I did promise a happy ending in the tags.

**Author's Note:**

> So, what do you think is in the envelope?
> 
> I hope you enjoy this fic, it starts a little heavy since Dean is still processing grief, but I promise that it's heading in the best of directions.
> 
> This is loosely inspired by Leonard Cohen's "Dance Me to the End of Love" because really isn't that what Dean and Cas have been doing with each other in their own way all along? There are a few good covers of this song out there, I'm a fan of Madeleine Peyroux's and The Civil Wars' versions. 
> 
> This and each subsequent chapter will be loosely based on a line from each verse in order. Chapter one is inspired by the line "Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove" where Dean is essentially making peace with himself, and his feelings for Cas. We aren't going to get anywhere until he stops fighting it.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!


End file.
